


Letter to the Unknown

by Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler



Series: Inconveniently Emotional Insomniacs [7]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, I promise, The Zhang clan does what they want, There should be a warning for Heavy Angst, you can pry this romance from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler/pseuds/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler
Summary: Chapter 1; In every reality, the Outlander receives a letter from their lover, heart broken and keenly missing their other half. Ronadia is not an exception from this rule.Chapter 2: Because I regard canon as glass that I can shatter to make my own stained-glass window, this is what happened to Rusk during the five-year gap, and how he and Ronadia reunite in my Legacy universe.Chapter 3: The Canon^tm Reunion for Ronadeltin.





	1. Letter of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to brightphemera to writing the basis of Fideltin's letter to Rona, and allowing me to personalise it for Rona and Fideltin's relationship.

_From: Fideltin Rusk_

_Subject: Survivor...again_

_~~Master Zh~~ ,_ ~~_Ronadia_~~ _, Rona,_

_A soldier follows orders. Even when he doesn't understand them. Even when he does, and thinks they're flat out wrong. Even when his life wasn't the one worth saving._

_I followed orders. Now I'm here and you're not. That's the trade you chose to make, and as my commander and my wife, it's your right. I'll make it up to you, somehow._

_More homes are being destroyed, more peaceful people being uprooted and worse. I have to be out there, stopping it. I can't be the leader you were but I can be the soldier I am. I guess you thought that would be enough._

_Hells, Rona, I don't know why I'm writing this. If Kira couldn’t find you I certainly can't. Maybe I'm just hoping that for once, the people who died so I could live could know that I won't let their sacrifice be a vain one._

_Yours, always,_

_Sgt. Fideltin Rusk_

* * *

Ronadia clutched the datapad to her chest, desperately trying to keep the tears in. Even in this empty room on the Gravestone that _somehow_ had a functioning GalacticMail console, she refused to let this one emotion get the better of her. Koth had so much faith that she would be the one to bring this madness to a halt. HK wouldn't understand, so it was better for him to not come across a weeping Jedi whatsoever.

Lana, however, was nearby. Aside from Rona’s own relatives, Lana was the only Sith that she had ever even contemplated trusting. She was strong in the Force, but she didn't let it consume her. Lana Beniko was the most Jedi-like Sith that Rona had ever known, and perhaps that was why she didn't care about the tears streaming down her cheeks when the blonde woman walked through the doorway.

Lana’s bright orange irises widened at the sight and at the sheer volume of sorrow that rolled off Rona in waves, but the ex-Sith said nothing, and Rona wasn't sure if she should be grateful that she wasn’t interfering or lonely because she made no attempt to comfort her distressed friend.

All at once, the edges of her mind felt icy, and Rona had to resist snarling in anger at the reappearance of her least favourite Force Ghost in her mind.

Vitiate, Valkorion, whatever he called himself now, regarded her with some kind of pity and no insubstantial amount of amusement. “Now here’s a sight I never thought I’d see; a weeping Jedi. Is this what you meant when you said that you’d already found love, this Sergeant of yours?”

The mindless savagery of Rona’s wordless mental retaliation surprised even her, blasting a wave of grieving Force at the apparition so strongly that Valkorion looked more grey and less opaque than he had before.

“You do _not_ get to harm him,” Rona growled, her voice more rough than she had been expecting, but too broken up at the moment to care. “Out of all the things in the galaxy that you’ve ruined, you don’t get him. You leave him alone, you soulless monster.”

The ensuing silence was so loud, the Force seemed to vibrate. Valkorion blinked, and Rona felt a vicious, cold burst of vindictive pleasure at the hesitation (fear? Dear Force, let that be fear, let this bastard be afraid of her, _any_ kind of control over her life would feel good right now,) that his near-transparent eyes reflected.

“You may not want to believe it right now, Jedi, but we are more alike than I had first presumed,” Valkorion told her with a smirk, before fading out of her mind’s eye like the damnable ghost that he was.

Rona huffed. _As if he’s “more alike” any sane person,_ she thought. Glancing at the datapad, Rona saved the email to her storage folder, and tucked the pad itself in one of the deep pockets of her robe. She _would_ find Fideltin, no matter what she had to do in order to do it.


	2. Fideltin's Five Years

**9 months, 1 week, and 3 days**

Fideltin hadn't known that you could be banned from the Jedi Temple before. Apparently, you could: for distracting the consulars and Masters who searched all of the Force with a metaphorical fine-toothed comb for the missing Hero of Tython. Now he was forced to pace just outside the training grounds, his frustration building with every useless step he took. 

Rona’s mother and father stood next to him, alternating between pacing with him and trying to comfort the other against the worst. Captain Di’zana’s anger was the cold, pacing kind, like Fideltin’s, but tears rolled down her face with the same fire Rona’s brown eyes -her father’s eyes, the Riggs family eyes, he'd learned,- had used to hold. 

In fact, almost the entire Zhang family had arrived on Tython, though some through more shady channels than others. Even Mai’lynnda, Champion of the Great Hunt and murderer of Chancellor Janarus, and Rona Riggs, ex-Black Sun underboss as well as Ronadia’s aunt and namesake, had managed to show up.

Setrala Zhang, formerly known as Cipher Nine and currently nameless to the galaxy at large, had informed the Republic side of the Zhang clan that something similar was happening on Korriban: the entire Dark Council sweeping the galaxy for any sign of the lost Emperor’s Wrath and Darth Nox, who had disappeared alongside the Battlemaster of the Order.

“They have felt Marr’s death,” Setrala informed them. “So it isn't as though they're out of reach, it's just… they can't see them.”

_Can't see them can't see them can't see them can't see **her**_

* * *

**Two years**

Major Cal’edra Zhang stood tall and strong, despite her short stature being emphasised by her tall husband Aric on one side and her nephew-in-law Fideltin on the other. They were surely the strangest trio- a greying Cathar, a petite Chiss, and a scarred Chagrilan -that the military court had ever seen, but they were _family,_ for Force’s sake, and Fideltin hoped that it would be enough.

And it had been. Fideltin was still trembling slightly, holding his assignment orders and being pat on the back by Major Cal’edra (he had never gotten the nerve to call her “Aunt”,) and Captain Jorgan (even after three years of being married to Rona, Jorgan was still intimidating).

Major Cal’edra’s dark blue face was nearly split in half by her smile, and her eyes were glowing brightly in the low lighting of the Dealer’s Den. Jorgan’s ginger fur was patterned with technicolor lights, and Fideltin could only imagine the colours his own face was turning- not only from the lights.

He wasn't exactly sure what the first two drinks had been, as Major Cal’edra and Captain Jorgan had ordered the first two rounds, but this was his third glass of Corellian Red that night, and his vision was already beginning to flicker. As a Chagrilan, alcohol affected him much more than it did the rest of the Zhang clan (who were Chiss, Twi’lek, and human mostly, with that Devaronian guy Mai was dating, Captain Jorgan, himself and Setrala’s husband mixing it up).

Fideltin didn't realise that he had fallen forward and until a dull pain told him that his head had hit the table. Shaking his head, he lifted himself up, but he… kept rising? Up out of his seat so that he was standing, even.

"Take our new _Chagrilan_ officer out to _drinks_. Yeah, great idea.”

“Hey! It's not like I knew before hand and didn't see fit to, I dunno, _warn_ someone about it.”

“I thought he'd know his limits. He's a soldier.”

The major’s reply was calculated: quiet enough that Fideltin wouldn't catch it, but her husband’s advanced hearing would. “I'm not so sure that he knows his limits right now, Aric. That's why I want him on the squad. He needs a purpose, and someone watch him, to make sure he doesn't get carried away.”

* * *

**Three years**

The letter had been burning a hole in his datapad for a year. He'd written it in the glare of the Thunderbird’s sickbay, hung over and hurting worse in his heart than in his head.

Lieutenant Dorne had given him a good-natured scolding that day, but had welcomed him into the squad warmly enough. Six months afterward, though, the transfer orders came. The major, stone faced, ordered Elara into the conference room, and the two had not emerged for hours.

The next day, Fideltin and Captain Jorgan were sent to Coruscant to vet the new medic, Yuun and Vik out on repair duty for the Thunderbird, and the major… neglected to mention where she and Elara were off to. Elara didn't return, and upon returning, the Major was nursing a cup of black coffee, which Vik said was the sign of an “ask no questions, get no lies” situation.

In any other circumstances, Fideltin would disapprove of his commander’s ( _his aunt-in-law’s_ ) decisions. In any other circumstances, Fideltin would happily fight the Empire rather than any other galactic power threatening the Republic, because the Empire and Republic would almost always be at each other's throats.

But now, with the “Eternal” Empire at large, the galactic power that killed his wife, that was holding both the Republic and Empire at gunpoint, Fideltin knew that fighting the Empire was a charade of an old habit that needed to die. Saresh and her puppet-Chancellor were being played liked audio-tracks, and keeping Havoc Squad on the Republic-Empire border, far away from Zakuul, was sure to backfire in a large, explosive way, if Major Cal’edra and Fideltin had anything to say about it.

* * *

**Four years**

The day that transfer orders came with Fideltin’s name on them, Major Cal’edra took one look at them, said “Frak it,” and turned the ship away from Dromund Kaas, toward Zakuul. The new recruits, Abbeth, Xaban, and Torg, all had varied reactions toward committing what amounted to treason during wartime, but the general consensus was, if the Major thought it was a good idea, then they would carry on after her with little to no complaints. They’d all heard about the loss of the Hero of Tython, and they weren’t about to contradict the Major on the matter of Zakuul.

Almost immediately, they attracted Zakuulan attention. Thankfully for everyone, Xaban was a pretty good pilot for an army girl, and they avoided becoming space debris.

The Major took the helm during the landing though, and refused to tell any of the crew the coordinates until they landed. Discovering that Zakuul was naturally a swampy planet was strangely enjoyable, if only because Fideltin could now understand how so many of the Zakuulan diplomats he had met during the non-aggression pact negotiations had had the personality of pond scum.

The sight that greeted Havoc Squad once they exited the Thunderbird was someone that Fideltin hadn’t seen in five years, and had been ready to never see again.

“Agent Shan.”

“Lieutenant Rusk.”

Major Cal’edra looked distinctly amused. “They remind me of you and Balkar, Aric.”

“Except Balkar wasn’t nearly as sarcastic.”

“True.”

Shan rolled his eyes, and for once, Fideltin agreed with him. Now really wasn’t the time for Cal’edra and Aric’s reminiscing.

The agent looked nervous, considering that Fideltin was staring at him unblinkingly. “Lieutenant, I know what you’re going to ask me, and the answer is still no. We can’t find her. Well, okay, it more complicated than that. Lana and Cipher 9 thought that they had a lead, but… I haven’t heard from either of them in months.”

Fideltin only nodded, pressing his lips together in a thin line to hold back the litany of rage. In his head, he accepted that Rona was probably dead. In his heart, he was still holding out hope.

* * *

**Five years, to the day**

The year that Havoc Squad spent on Zakuul was a year of firsts. The first time that Fideltin actually called his CO “Aunt” when they were both off duty, the first time he wore his wedding ring under his gauntlet like he used to, the first time he tried Kaleesh food. The first time he won an argument against Aric about assault cannons, he first time he voluntarily piloted the Thunderbird, and the first time he sparred hand-to-hand against a Kel Dor.

The first time he heard the name “Outlander,” his instinct was to run straight to wherever that person was, though he didn’t know why. The commander of an alliance that basically amounted to an anti-Arcann battalion seemed like a good person, but Fideltin was pretty sure that they didn’t warrant fanaticism.

When Major Cal’edra heard the news, she immediately called Theron Shan.

“You wouldn’t happen to be involved in this Alliance lead by the “Outlander”, would you, Shan?”

“Why does talking to you always feel like talking to my mother?” Shan retorted. “Yes, I’m at the base right now. If you want to talk to the Outlander, you’ll have to come out here and wait for her, she’s on a mission right now.”

“No,” interjected Jorgan. “We’re in the middle of a mission, Shan. If anything,we’ll need assistance to do it. How about you and the Outlander help us out? Call it a vetting process.”

Shan smirked over the holofeed, though it easily could’ve been a glitch. “Suit yourselves. I’ll call her when she gets back. Shan out.”

And so Havoc Squad waited, watching the newsfeeds for any mention of the Outlander and proceeding on planning their assault. Almost a week passed, until finally Theron send the communique- “On my way, with the Outlander in tow.”

“Alright, Havoc Squad, let’s set up a welcoming party. We don’t know who this Outlander is, so we shouldn’t let our guard down,” the Major warned.

“Affirmative, Major. Ambush positions, everybody.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Abbeth confirmed the shuttle landing, and Theron Shan came strolling into the chosen rendezvous clearing first, with a figure dressed in blue not far behind him.

The Outlander’s armour was unusual, definitely not made in the greater galaxy that Fideltin was familiar with. The robe-like cut and the understated metals were similar to Jedi robes, but the shoulder pads were definitely reminiscent of Sith battle armour, as was the impassive metal mask, and its tinted visor and HUD completely hiding the Outlanders face. Twin lightsabers hung from the Outlander’s belt, and Fideltin felt a sting of grief, remembering the last dual-wielder he'd known.

From her invisible perch, Major Cal’edra called down to them, “Hands were we can see them, Outlander.”

The Outlander startled, and the shocked gasp that filtered through the helmet was distinctly feminine, and, though it was distorted through the helmet, vaguely familiar. And then, she spoke five words that surprised nearly everyone in the clearing.

"Aunt Callie? Is that you?"

Havoc Squad were holding their collective breaths, watching as the Outlander struggled with her helmet. Finally, she depressurised it and lifted it off, unleashing a wave of curly brown hair, pale brown skin that had lost its pallor, and piercing brown eyes that held familiar fire in them.

Those eyes, _Rona’s eyes, Rona was alive and living and right in front of him_ , her eyes widened and glanced around the clearing, as if looking, searching for-

Staring straight through his camouflage, Rona grinned, and it felt like she had locked a target on his heart and set it aflame. Fideltin had to clench his hands to keep a grip on his rifle, and his knees threatened to give out of she kept looking at him like that.

He didn't register rising up out of position, but all of a sudden he was standing in front of Rona, and then his rifle clattered to the ground, and his arms were full of Rona, armour and all, and she held him like she did after Corellia, after Everything, as if she was never going to let him go again. He buried his face in her hair, running his hand through it to convince himself it was real, even though he already knew that it was. Every dream before had ended the moment he reached for her, and now she was _here_.

“I'm never leaving your side again,” Fideltin promised, and he felt her lips press a smile onto his skin.

High on adrenaline and action, the rest of the mission passed in a blur- a blur of purple lightsabers and new leather armour and vindictively crushing Skytroopers into debris. When finally Fideltin and Ronadia were alone, sitting by the flames as the evening closed around them, they were both exhausted, but wired beyond belief.

When he finally broke the silence, he could only bring himself to a low tone. “Where were you, Rona?”

“Mostly? In a carbonate trophy room. I took a chance to kill the Emperor, Valkorion, and it backfired. Badly.” Rona grimaced, hugging her torso. “Valkorion ended up in my head. Bastard gave me visions, of you, the crew, my family, Coruscant. All dead.”

Fideltin’s heart lurched, and he had to hold back from audibly snarling at the very idea of that- that- _thing_ in Rona’s mind. He must've made some sort of noise, though, because Rona laughed- a small, carefree sound that catapulted him back five years and six months.

“You've been spending way too long with Uncle Aric. I could've sworn that was a growl, and Chagrilans aren't mammalian.”

Placing an ungloved hand in Rona’s soft skin, Fideltin smiled. “I missed you,” he murmured, a gross understatement of the last five years, but all he could manage through the emotions caught in his throat. “Can't blame me for that, Ro’.”

Rona’s grin was nearly as bright as the fire, and just as warm. “I missed you too, Fid.”

The familiar “dreaded” nickname made Fideltin react the same way it had: he frowned with disapproval, it didn't reach his eyes. The expression, which came to his face as easily as if it hadn't left, made Rona laugh, just like it always had.

With his wife in his arms, laughing and grinning and warm and alive, Fideltin felt like he could take on the Zakuulan fleet. _But, in the morning. Tonight is for Rona._


End file.
